


Raising in the Sun

by gwendolynflight



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, Fear of Discovery, M/M, Nude sunbathing, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolynflight/pseuds/gwendolynflight
Summary: On the first nice day of spring, Quentin stumbles across Eliot and Margo sunbathing on the lawn at Brakebills.





	Raising in the Sun

It was the first warm day of the season. In Brakebills. Outside the wards, New York had just experienced their worst blizzard in decades. But inside the wards, confused birds chirped in the greening trees, the skies were pale robin’s egg blue, and the sun was just warm enough that the light breeze felt good on Quentin’s skin. He looked across the school’s green lawn, and shifted his bag on his shoulder.

Quentin had homework. As a first-year grad student, his life should consist of little else. He should be practicing Popper 39, or reading Ruminsky’s Treatise on Elder Magic for his Theory of Magic class. 

But the sun was warm, and as he was walking back to the cottage, he stumbled across Eliot and Margo sprawled naked on bright towels in the middle of the lawn. Sunbathing.

“Hey, um,” he started, looking down at them, Margo’s brown skin glimmering in the light, Eliot’s paler skin taking on an olive tint.

Margo lifted her head from her folded arms, and squinted up at him. “Coldwater!” she said commandingly. “Strip off and get down here.”

Quentin looked around. This part of the lawn was somewhat isolated from the rest of the school grounds by a line of trees, but it was still in the middle of school grounds where anyone could come walking by. He thought of Penny catching him out here naked, and cringed preemptively. “No, um, I don’t …”

Eliot lifted himself up onto his elbows, raising one elegant brow. “Q, you heard Bambi. Strip!”

Quentin felt himself blushing, and sat down abruptly next to them. “I don’t think I can …”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Eliot, get this boy a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eliot said archly, sitting up and reaching into a white and blue cooler next to his towel to pull out a martini glass. It had a lid on it, and Quentin stared at that rather than Eliot’s cock. Eliot took the lid off, and handed Quentin the glass, something in his expression almost daring him to look down.

Quentin took a larger than necessary gulp of the drink, and let the alcohol burn to his middle and spread outward in sudden warmth. Margo sat up as well, then, and Quentin focused more on his drink than on his naked friends, who were both sipping on cocktails now. As Quentin finished his drink, something tart and biting, his shoulders relaxed a little, and when Eliot handed him a second glass, he traded without thinking about it, and drank the next concoction. This one was minty, and he smacked his lips afterward. “That’s really good,” he said very sincerely to Eliot, who smiled, seeming genuinely pleased at the compliment.

“Here,” Eliot said, passing him another. “Try this one, it had pomegranate.”

As Quentin got part of the way through this one, Margo said, “Aren’t you a little warm in that jacket?”

Quentin agreed, and shrugged out of it, laying the jacket neatly over his messenger bag. The sun was almost a weight on his shoulders, and he tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“Here,” Eliot said, laying out a third towel. “You’ll be more comfortable if you lie down.”

“Oh, okay,” Quentin agreed, accepting another drink as he moved to Eliot’s side. He couldn’t have explained why, but he felt a tiny bit more relaxed, now that he was sitting on a towel and not in the grass. He toed off his brown leather oxfords, and wiggled his toes in the grass at the edge of his towel.

He still didn’t know Eliot, or especially Margo, very well at all. He’d missed Eliot while at Brakebills South, partly in the way he’d missed everything about not being in that frozen hellhole, but also in the way he’d missed Julia, at first. Like a part of himself was missing. 

Now that he was back, and caught up in schoolwork, he sometimes felt as distant from El as ever. They hadn’t gotten a lot of time alone, between his nascent, on again off again romance with Alice, and Eliot’s relationship with Mike, who hung around campus an awful lot for someone who supposedly had a job and a life. 

So this time, when Eliot said, “Come on, join us for a while,” Quentin set down his drink, and pulled his shirt over his head.

He got stuck, so it was a less graceful move than he’d been hoping it would be. Eliot just laughed, and helped him find a way out. Red-faced, Quentin ducked his head and fumbled with his jean’s zipper. 

Eliot watched him with interest for a moment, but when Quentin didn’t move, Eliot made a small sound, turned, and laid back down onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms.

Margo had returned to this position a while ago, and didn’t stir, and Quentin felt almost like he had some privacy as he wiggled out of his jeans and boxers. Feeling conspicuous, he turned over onto his front, and mirrored the position Eliot and Margo had taken, folding his arms and resting his head on them.

The sun was like a warm caress on his back, and the breeze felt really nice on his bare skin. He still felt incredibly exposed, and self-conscious. The alcohol helped, blunting the edges of his anxiety and helping him think less of all the people who might find them and laugh at him (him specifically, because Margo and Eliot’s nude sunbathing would be an object of desire, not ridicule), and more about how very nice it felt to relax next to his friend. After a few minutes, Eliot passed him another drink, and Quentin propped himself up on his elbows to sip it – another minty one, he was pleased to find. His mouth and tongue tingled, and the breeze felt cooler on his lips.

Eliot and Margo were chatting idly about clothes and new drink ideas and things she’d done at Encanto Occulto, and Quentin let the sound of their voices wash over him as he finished this drink, and settled his head back onto his folded arms. A few birds chirped at each other in the distance, and the sun was warm on his back, and the breeze was so cool and comfortable on his skin. Margo and Eliot seemed to get further away, and Quentin thought distantly about getting a snack later.

A finger poked his side.

Quentin started up, and realized immediately he’d gotten burned, the skin of his back and shoulders, and ass, and the backs of his thighs, even, screaming in pain. “What the hell,” he slurred.

Eliot, next to him, looked chagrined. “You fell asleep, Q, sorry.”

“You didn’t wake me up?” Quentin groaned, trying to stay as still as possible.

“We fell asleep, too,” Margo said, sounding defensive. “We just … forgot that you didn’t have Enzekiel’s Sunshield in your repertoire.”

“What?”

“It’s a spell,” Eliot explained, mouth twisting apologetically. “Prevents sun burn completely. I should’ve cast it on you.”

Quentin gingerly pulled himself up, bringing the towel with him to shield his dick. “I wish you had.”

“Sorry,” Eliot said again, and he looked remorseful enough that Quentin couldn’t hold onto his anger for long.

“It’s, um, it’s okay,” Quentin sighed, head spinning a little. He thought he might still be a little drunk. He fumbled around for his clothes, pulling his jeans back up with a pained hiss.

Eliot watched this sympathetically, passing Quentin articles of clothing so he wouldn’t have to bend over. “Look, come back to my room, and I’ll put some aloe on those burns.”

Quentin paused in pulling his shirt over his head. “Isn’t there a spell that will fix this?” He frowned. “Like, immediately?”

“No such luck,” Margo scoffed, standing up (still completely naked, and Quentin hastily averted his eyes) and throwing on a flowy, patterned robe with a belt that looked like a snake. “You’ll have to do it the old fashioned way, puppy.”

Quentin pulled his shirt on, and it hurt, oh, it hurt against his smarting skin, and he whimpered.

Eliot stood, and picked up Quentin’s bookbag. “Come on, Coldwater. I’ve got you.”

Feeling slightly pathetic and shivery, Quentin picked up his jacket and his shoes, and followed Eliot barefoot back to the cottage, and then upstairs to his room. 

“Margo?” Eliot asked her at one point.

“You’re on your own, for this one,” she said, arching one brow. “I’m having a bath.” Then she stretched her arms above her head, the movement doing interesting things to the outline of her body in the flowy robe, and Quentin flushed a little pinker.

“Suit yourself,” Eliot said archly, and then shuffled Quentin into his room. “Clothes off, on the bed,” he said briskly, setting Quentin’s bag down near the door.

Quentin followed directions this time, eager to be out of the scratchy cloth, and flopped naked a cross Eliot’s bed. Eliot’s coverlet was soft and satiny, and felt cool beneath him, and Quentin moaned happily.

“That looks awful,” Eliot said, staring down at his back.

“It feels awful,” Quentin said, sounding about as pathetic as he felt. His skin felt hot and tender, and it hurt to twist, or move, or even breathe.

“Hush, let daddy take care of you,” Eliot said.

Quentin wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but then Eliot put cool fingers on his smarting shoulder, and he melted into the bed.

“That feels amazing,” he slurred, as Eliot rubbed something into his skin.

“It’s aloe, and a few others things,” Eliot said smugly. “My own recipe.”

Whatever it was, it spread a cooling sensation across Quentin’s shoulders, and with it, the pain faded to a dull echo of pain, and with every stroke of Eliot’s fingers, Quentin relaxed a little more. 

Eliot worked carefully, moving down his back, careful around his spine, then nonchalantly carried on to Quentin’s ass.

Quentin jumped a little, but the aloe mixture felt amazing, and Eliot remained very careful and matter of fact about it, so Quentin relaxed again, and Eliot kept going down his legs.

The backs of his knees had probably gotten it the worst, and the application of Eliot’s recipe felt like the application of a miracle, and Quentin made a slightly embarrassing sound as Eliot worked further down to his feet.

“Hm,” Eliot said, intrigued. “Into feet, are we?”

“Shut up,” Quentin muttered, flushing red from embarrassment rather than sun. “It just feels good because I’m burned.”

“I learn more about you every day, little Q,” Eliot said in a slightly sing-song tone as he started massaging Quentin’s feet.

Quentin frowned, rubbing his face against Eliot’s pillow. “This is your fault, you know,” he said, knowing how petulant he was being but unable to stop himself. 

Eliot’s hands paused for just a moment before resuming. “Well, I suppose I could make it up to you,” he said thoughtfully.

Quentin flexed his feet in Eliot’s grasp, enjoying the feel of his strong fingers working into the arch. “That isn’t what you’re doing?” 

Eliot chuckled, a sound that sent a sort of tickling warmth through Quentin’s center. “Oh, I can think of a much more fitting apology.”

Quentin swallowed, not moving to look at Eliot. “Like what?”

Eliot was moving back up Quentin’s legs, making another pass with the aloe lotion. Any remaining pain melted away beneath his fingers. This time, when he got to Quentin’s ass, he paused. Stroked it with one large hand. “Well, I’m sure we could think of something.”

Quentin froze. “Um …”

“You just think about it,” Eliot said, his voice a touch lower than usual. He rubbed the lotion into Quentin’s spine, up his back, smoothing it over his shoulders. Quentin was relaxing into each touch, but he was also getting hard, and he squirmed a little on the bed as Eliot kept touching him.

“Eliot?” 

Eliot just hummed in response.

Quentin wriggled, suddenly more absorbed by the feeling of his erection against Eliot’s silky coverlet than by any lingering pain. Eliot’s hand stroked down his spine, soothingly, and Quentin sighed. 

Moving swiftly, Eliot knelt up on the bed and took Quentin’s hips in both hands and, before Quentin realized what was happening, flipped him over. Quentin’s erection bobbed against his stomach, and he let out a mortified squeak, hands flying up to cover his face.

But Eliot just grinned down at him. “This was what I had in mind,” he said, as if they were still discussing the weather, and then he leaned down and swallowed Quentin’s cock to the hilt.

Quentin was suddenly engulfed in wet heat and powerful suction. Eliot buried his nose in the curls at the base of Quentin’s cock and did something with his tongue that had Quentin’s back arching like he’d been shocked, his hands suddenly scrabbling at the silky coverlet for purchase. He let out a shocked huff, and then Eliot pulled back.

Bereft, Quentin stared at him, panting. Eliot smiled, licked his lips. “Apology blow job okay?” he asked.

“Um, yes?” Quentin said, and almost before he’d finished, Eliot dove back in, taking Quentin in his mouth and sucking at just the head of his cock for a moment before swallowing the whole thing down. Quentin wailed at the feeling, and reached out with trembling hands to just touch the top of Eliot’s head, to stroke the soft curls and listen helplessly to the murmurs and sighs slipping from his lips. Eliot seemed to have no gag reflex, taking Quentin into his throat and swallowing around him just to make Quentin’s hips buck, and then pulling back a little to flutter his tongue at the vein running up the underside of Quentin’s cock. Quentin writhed helplessly at this feeling, it was so good, pulses of unbelievable pleasure going through him, and his back was starting to hurt again but even that just added to the overwhelming sensations, and then Eliot did that thing with his tongue again and, with a shout, Quentin came down his throat.

Eliot pulled back slowly, gently, kissed the head of Quentin’s cock as it subsided and lay limp against Quentin’s belly, still heaving with his quick breaths. He looked up the length of Quentin’s body, smiled at him. “All better?” he asked.

Quentin panted, staring at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, all good,” he said, and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

He'd have to let Eliot talk him into things more often.


End file.
